The flash occurred on a June night. Screams of terror could be heard somewhere near the foyer. There was an odor of burning. Smoke was seeping through the crevices and into the keyhole. So it wasn’t their house that was burning.
Ali’s parents and younger brother hastily grabbed their paperwork and dashed out into the street in their pajamas and slippers. The neighbors had already gathered on the landing, everyone at a loss in their own way, although not in the same sequence.
The apartment on the second story was on fire, directly across from their door. The window was slightly open, and smoke was already escaping.
“Did you call the Ministry of Emergency Situations?” the woman on the first floor said, yawning. However, as soon as she realized that her apartment could be flooded while putting out the fire, she sobered up and began to regret her comments.
“I think they called,” someone in the crowd said, imploring everyone to quiet down and not add to the hysteria.
She was about to go down to the street to the others when she suddenly heard a cough inside the apartment. She listened – it was a child’s cough. It was clear that he was there, inside. There was no time to put it off.
Alya went to the neighbors’ door and checked – it was locked. What to do?
“Tools… where are the tools?” she thought feverishly. Thank God, her father’s toolbox was at home, under the shoe rack. She pulled out the tire iron.
“If only it works… If only I can make it in time!” she thought, inserting a crowbar between the door and the frame.
If the neighbors had changed the front door in time, if they had installed an iron one, there would have been no chance. But the old plywood, double-leaf, was still held on by a lock from the time of Soviet builders.
The crowbar went in deep, and the door gave way. There was a massive wall of smoke behind it. The room was on fire, with the drapes and some of the furniture already ablaze. A woman lay on the living room sofa, most likely suffocated by the smoke. And where was the boy?
Alya reached out to feel the little body. Lyosha was barely breathing. She carefully lifted him up, but she couldn’t escape since the flames had become stronger.
“We need to get to the window!” sprang to mind. From the room to the corridor, through the fire and the heat. The drapes were already taking fire, and the frames were splitting from the heat. She gripped the red-hot window handle, and the skin on her palm swelled instantaneously. Pain penetrated her body, but Alya continued to open the window.
There was a gasp from beneath. The firefighters were already nearby, unrolling their hoses in response to the crowd’s screams. When they noticed the window, they swiftly unrolled the rescue sheet.
